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Blinding white midday light streamed in through the manor windows, painting the parquet flooring of her chambers. Hermione had watched the way the bars and boxes of shadows and sun floated across the room throughout the first half of the day. She had not left the quiet space since Laney, her personal (paid) elf, woke her that morning for breakfast.
The tea service with scones and jam was served on delicate pastel china painted with images of bunnies running amongst daffodils, a set themed just for the day. It was Ostara, the vernal equinox, and the day of the Malfoy Family Spring Ball. When breakfast had vanished, Laney did her hair and makeup with astonishingly quick charm work, and she was left to her solitude.
While it sounded like a serene morning, the beautiful March day was clouded with anxiety. Much of Hermione’s time in the manor felt that way. The ancestral home was cleared of residual dark magic and curses in short order after the war and had been renovated and redecorated. When she first visited the newly finished manor a few years ago for the Midwinter Ball, attending as simply a distinguished guest, the changes and beauty astounded her. Memories of Voldemort and the war did not remain. No, it wasn’t the space that haunted her, but the circumstances.
In all its opulence and grandeur, Hermione never wanted the manor to become her home. And yet, just last month, on the fourth of February, 2005, she and Draco Malfoy married in a small ceremony held at the ministry, as forced by the recent marriage law. After a short reception with cake and an awkward dance, Draco escorted her to their wing of the manor. Here she now must live, as ancestral magic required. The pureblood luxury and wealth that came with her newly imposed name, Lady Hermione Granger-Malfoy, scratched at her like an uncomfortable dress.
The dress she wore now was not that. Narcissa, her now mother-in-law, favoured the light champagne colour and princess-puff sleeves. She wanted a gown with a bridal air since Hermione’s recent nuptials would surely be the afternoon's focus. Pansy appreciated the modernity and allure of the structured bodice and slit, and Ginny thought the soft red and green of the vintage rose pattern was fitting. Hermione just wanted a dress that didn’t feel like she was suffocating under the weight of being a Malfoy wife.
***
Looking over her shoulder in the mirror, Hermione struggled to tug the zip the rest of the way up. Laney had left her to dress in privacy, and she was about to call for the elf to return when there was a knock on her door, and it slowly opened.
“Granger, are you- wow.”
She turned to see Draco, her husband, frozen in the doorway, mouth agape.
It was as if he had never seen her all dressed up before. She supposed that what she wore to their wedding wasn’t much to be stunned by; the tea-length satin dress were formal and plain for a formal and plain occasion. But her lovely gown for today was charmed to shimmer with small iridescent flowers when it caught the light. Laney had put extra effort into highlighting the golden glow of the curls that she wore down, and brought her face to life with pink blush. Hermione hadn’t felt pretty like this since perhaps the Yule Ball.
Finally, the synapses of his brain seemed to fire again.
“You are absolutely beautiful.”
She dipped her head. “Thank you.”
“Do you, er, need help?” Draco gestured to the half-unzipped back of the dress.
“Yes, actually.”
She thought it would be a moment for her to catch herself, so thrown off by the way he was looking at her, as if she were some treasure. But those striking grey eyes sought her out in the mirror when he came up behind her. Two fingertips pinched the seam of the dress, and she heard the hiss of the zipper. Yet, he lingered in her space.
“I wanted to give you something. A gift for you to wear today.”
Certainly, the massive opal and diamond ring on her finger was enough jewellery from him. “Draco, you don’t need to.”
Hermione turned to see what he was pulling from his pocket, but a hand on her waist stopped her.
“Yes, I do. You’re my wife, and this is our first event together. It’s a special occasion, so I want to treat you.”
His hand gently brushed her hair to the side. Around her neck, he clasped a pink freshwater pearl, hanging from a diamond pendant on a thin gold chain. A sunken treasure sourced just for her. He tugged her curls back to where they were before, taking his time as he did so, then let his hands fall from her shoulders with a parting squeeze. He’d never touched her so much, and her breath caught in her chest.
“There, perfect.”
“I love it.” And she did. It was elegant and complemented her dress wonderfully.
A small smile graced his lips, but it fell away. He turned to look out the windows beside them, watching the final preparations in the gardens.
“Look, Granger. I know you weren’t looking forward to this. And mother’s gone a bit overboard since she didn’t get to put on the wedding of her dreams,” he rolled his eyes, “but I want you to have a nice time. Theo and Potter are already waiting in the drawing room, and our other friends should be here soon. Spend your time with them; I don’t want you to feel like some kind of doll for Mother to drag around. You should have fun.”
It was thoughtful of him. While these big events were nothing new for him, she mentioned more than once how galas, balls, and fundraisers overwhelmed her. It was a trait of his that surprised her when the marriage law forced them into each other's lives. He was exceedingly deferent towards her, always trying to think of what she would like or how to make her more comfortable in his- their- home.
She came up beside him, her shoulder bumping against his. “That’s kind of you.”
“Just… save me the last dance, yeah?”
“Of course.”
***
Despite his offer to let her off on her own for the ball, Hermione found herself orbiting in Draco’s space. They welcomed their friends, but when he went to do rounds greeting guests, she joined him. He was unsure at first, but as the born-and-bred charm kicked in, he looped her arm in his and introduced her to all the attendees.
“Mr. And Mrs. Elcombe, thank you so much for attending. Have you met my lovely wife, Hermione Granger-Malfoy?”
“My stunning wife”, “my accomplished wife”, “my delightful wife”, “my magnificent wife.”
The list went on. The first few times, she tripped over herself attempting to make niceties with these strangers. But Draco was always there to sing Hermione’s praises and mention her recent publications, quick to steer them away from but a few compliments on her efforts in the war. She’d told him once how it bothered her that it was all anyone would talk to her about. It had been over five years, and she had a list of accomplishments in research and advocacy since then. She didn’t want to dwell on the worst years of her life as if it were the best she would ever be.
After receiving their guests, she sat beside him instead of across from him for lunch, asking Narcissa to make the small switch on the seating arrangement. They were sitting by most of their friends but still spent much of their time engaged in snarky commentary about particular couples and the little pieces of drama they’d picked up. Narcissa made a speech at precisely the time of the spring equinox, and afterwards, the alcohol flowed and conversation livened.
There were a handful of dances, but she avoided the dance floor with Harry and Theo, who were also not ones to dance. Draco sat with them until his mother dragged him away for a dance with her. He hadn’t returned by the time the last dance was announced, and as promised, she sought him out.
He was near the courtyard's centre, fending off an elderly witch trying to cajole him into a dance. His polite grimace spread into a full grin at the sight of Hermione.
“Hello again, my pretty wife. You remembered.”
She flushed. There had been one too many compliments this afternoon. He’d never been unkind, but never this forthcoming either.
“Stop with that, dapper husband.”
Dapper he was in his finely tailored suit and perfectly coiffed hair. Coming to admit how fit Draco was had been a change over the last month. But a sleep-mussed morning Draco, emerging from his chambers for breakfast together, affected her the most.
“Stop with what?”
He pulled her in for their dance, one hand low on her waist, the other joined with hers. In her heels, she was only a tad shorter than him.
“All the compliments. It’s too much.”
“It’s only the truth; you’re my beautiful wife.”
“Stop!” The way she smiled kept there from being any bite in her words.
His hand left her waist and brushed stray curls away from her face. He took his time returning it, sliding down her arm with a whisper touch.
“Yes, fine. But I was truly happy to have you with me tonight. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“I did. Narcissa outdid herself, really.”
She looked around, her gaze pointing out the trellis overhead draped full of flowers, and the rose bushes and hedges trimmed to perfection. The abundance of magic and celebration had even called fairies out from the woods further back.
Draco levelled her with a severe look, skipping past her pleasantry of an answer.
“I meant it when I said you could have stuck with Potter. You shouldn’t feel that you must stay with me just because we’re married. I want you to be comfortable.”
“I feel comfortable with you, Draco.”
A myriad of expressions flicked across his face, as though he never expected her to say that.
“Well then, I’m glad. I like having you with me.”
Again, with those precious eyes of his. Hermione bit her lip and ducked, closing the last space between them to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm came up around her back, warm and possessive.
Their steps slowed, and the other guests faded around them.
“To many more last dances?” Hermione asked, voice quiet and just for him.
She felt him press a kiss into her hair, and her eyes fluttered shut.
“To many, many more, my wife.”
